


FIGJAM

by ayjee



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: M/M, although Danse doesn't pine of course, mutual pining. kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22542487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayjee/pseuds/ayjee
Summary: Another day babysitting the sole survivor for poor Paladin Danse, pre-Blind Betrayal.
Kudos: 7





	FIGJAM

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks a lot to inquisitor_tohru for going over this. <3 Remaining mistakes are all mine

Danse jolts awake to the sound of gunfire, followed by a short fit of laughter that takes him a few seconds to place. The knight. They've made a stop on the way from Saugus Ironworks and he dozed off...apparently. He doesn't even remember sitting down. The lack of sleep is starting to take its toll, just like Haylen and Cade said it would. 

A treacherous machine, the human body.

More gunshots echo from the upper floor. Danse climbs the stairs, mindful not to trip on the junk littering the ground. He’s halfway between the two floors when Johnson comes into view, standing by the opposite wall, rifle resting against the window frame as he's shooting...ferals, from the sound of it.

A bloody waste of bullets. "What do you think you're doing?" Danse barks.

The man turns to face him, rifle still in hand; his expression hardens and Danse wonders why the ferals sound so much closer all of a sudden. "Don't move," Johnson says, and pulls the trigger.

The bullet whistles past Danse’s face; something splatters over his hood and on the floor before him. Blood, thick and dark, and a handful of gory tissue. He snarls in disgust. The combined sounds of gunshots and his own armor were enough to mask the ferals’ shuffling and groaning. And he was too disoriented upon waking up to remember to do a visual check. Rookie mistake.

Danse climbs the last steps, brows shooting up at the knight's outfit: uniform rolled down to his hips, sleeves tied loosely around the waist, holotags catching on the hem of his (very sweaty) tanktop. He looks nothing like a soldier, and a hell of a lot like someone you'd find on the covers of those magazines Danse has seen laying around the Prydwen's latrines.

"Thought I'd take them down before they got too close," Johnson offers as an explanation. And then, rubbing at his neck. "Didn't think they'd actually manage to get inside."

"Obviously your searching of this place wasn't thorough enough," Danse snaps. "It's Iucky that thing tried to creep up on me here, and not below.” He huffs. “But I appreciate the timely rescue."

"Piece of cake," the knight says, resting the rifle against his shoulder. Flexing his arm makes the muscles stand out, which Danse suspects is the whole point. "I  _ am _ a good shot."

_ Cocky little shit _ . Danse snorts and gives the splattered tissue a half-hearted kick.

"Whenever you're done blowing your own trumpet, dress up. We still have a long way to go."

Something like concern passes on the knight's face; probably wondering if he's gone too far this time.  _ Good _ . It doesn't last, of course. Danse is positive he's smirking as he wipes his face on his vest, flashing the hard muscles beneath, as well as an impressive treasure trail. A genuine ginger, if there was ever any doubt.

Danse sighs and walks down the stairs with heavy footsteps. He  _ could _ simply file a request for Johnson to be partnered up with someone else. This isn't the first time he's been the object of a fellow soldier's attention (although the man is certainly persistent) and he knows establishing distance is his best option. You can only masturbate so many times thinking about the same person before it turns into a pattern; this is one he’s not interested in revisiting.

Not that his personal feelings on the subject matter. This is a question of ethics.

_ And yet _ , he thinks, listening to the telltale sounds of a power armor setting into motion. He has yet to file that report. Johnson is a distraction, but he’s the best teammate Danse’s had in years. Seems a shame to lose that because of a bad case of bedroom eyes.

At least his heart is in the right place, Danse muses, looking at the Brotherhood’s sigil on Johnson’s armor. 

Just a few more days and he’ll be able to take care of these urges privately -- unlike  _ some  _ people, jerking off next to sleeping teammates is simply not something he’ll risk.

It's a long way to Boston Airport.


End file.
